


Degradation

by abeautifulmessofcontradictions



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeautifulmessofcontradictions/pseuds/abeautifulmessofcontradictions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My interpretation of Hannibal and Clarice's life in Italy (set after the conclusion of "Hannibal"). Hannibal introduces her to the world of BDSM as he continues in his quest for her ultimate submission. Will joins them later and completes their triad. WARNING: Explicit smut, BDSM, and non-con at times! You have been warned!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Extremely explicit content, non-con, and BDSM. Read at your own risk! 
> 
> I own nothing! Just a huge, huge fan who likes to play with the characters when inspiration strikes. My very first Clannibal fic! I might go back and add chapters to the beginning, so bear with me as I write out of order :) I just couldn’t wait any longer to post it! 
> 
> Thank you so much to my research partner BlackInk07 for answering all my questions and letting me bounce ideas! You're the BEST!!!
> 
> This fic stemmed from a very vivid dream I had after reading some amazing Clannibal fanfic. Hope you like the dark and twisty.

There had been no time for goodbyes. No time to pack or even to blow a farewell kiss to her homeland. There had been no time for anything.

They had simply run.

After her final admission in the lake house, Hannibal had taken a carving knife from the butcher’s block on the kitchen island and swiftly brought it down behind her head, sawing through her ponytail in one deliberate motion, freeing her from the imprisonment of the broken refrigerator door.

Clarice’s gasp had had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the realization that he was taking her with him. And a lot to do with the fact that she wanted to go.

She remembered well how he had grasped her hand and led her out the back door, across the dark, dewy lawn, and down to the water’s edge. 

That memory felt like a lifetime ago. Clarice brought her eyes back into focus, shaking the thoughts from her head like raindrops from her hair. She was here now, and that was all that mattered.

She turned her head from the glorious beach view in front of her to the other side of the balcony, where Hannibal was reclining against the railing, elbows propped behind him, cell phone held to his ear. The white linen of his shirt billowed gently against his chest in the coastal breeze, tan slacks riding low on his hips. He was speaking, but his attention was focused entirely on her. She settled back against the lounge chair, raising her face to the sun. 

It had taken a long time for her to become comfortable with his constant attention, his scrutiny both overbearing and addictive. She had wanted his absorption, but she had been convinced that she shouldn’t. Months of dedication to his cause had realigned her thinking so that she now accepted his devotion, craved his eyes on her, required his approval.

Clarice smiled to herself; it had taken almost as long to convince Hannibal that she wanted to be there with him; that she did, indeed, love him as desperately as she said. It hadn’t been enough that she ran with him. A lifetime of indoctrination had convinced him that he was unloveable, a monster. And he was. But, he was her monster and she had been prepared to embrace all parts of him and to love him in whatever way he was capable of allowing. 

He had fought it, resisted her advances until they were established in the villa on the shore. He had needed to be sure she wasn’t lying; that she hadn’t come with him only to lead her superiors to his capture. 

The most difficult transition for Clarice had been to give up her hard-won guise of the FBI agent. She had spent years adopting the rigid gait, the unwavering loyalty of an officer of the law. Breaking down her tenacious resilience, uncovering the softness beneath her formidable facade, teaching her to discover how to submit, molding her to be pliable in his hands, receptive to his will, had been Hannibal’s challenge and supreme pleasure. It concerned her, the lack of work, her own negligent desire to be a kept woman, yet she had thrived under his tutelage; always so eager to please him. There was no need for either of them to work now and he preferred she devote herself entirely to learning his needs. There had been many things that she was reluctant to try, but there was nothing she had refused him. He enjoyed exploiting her eager compliance, testing her limits to see how far he could push her. He was fascinated to uncover what would break her.

Hannibal snapped the phone closed, the sound prompting her to open her eyes again, her head rolling to the side once more, bringing him into view. He studied her intently as he crossed to her, dropping down on the accompanying lounger. 

“Everything all set?” she inquired.

“Tonight,” he replied, referring to the municipal official who had approved the building of a city monument that Hannibal had lobbied against. The structure was to be erected over an existing fountain that Hannibal was quite fond of 

She didn’t relish the idea of his hunts, but she understood his need. Since Mischa, it had become so much a part of him that it would have been impossible to separate the two pieces of himself from one another. He was a cannibal, a killer, but a human being, still, desiring and deserving of love, her love.

He watched her reaction closely, eyes roving over her rosy skin, warm from the morning sun’s kiss. 

“Eyes on me,” he murmured, playing with her just a bit. He leaned towards her and stretched out a single fingertip to her face, hovering just above her mouth. She met his stare and held it, eyes never wavering from his, her body still beneath his touch. His finger descended to graze her lower lip, his nail scraping lightly over her chin, down the length of her throat. He paused for the barest second as his trail dipped into the hollow of her throat, before continuing down to the cleft of her breasts, barely covered by her cream bikini.

Clarice shivered at his caress, eyes fluttering closed as he drew the backs of his fingers along the soft mounds and sharp peaks of her breasts beneath her top. 

She felt the sting of his fierce pinch against one nipple, forcing her eyes to fly open, searching his. There was heat in his gaze then, and a challenge, daring her to close herself to him again. He wanted to watch her surrender, she knew, to claim his dominance over all her pain and every bit of her pleasure. 

“Shall I fuck you here, Clarice?” he suggested quietly, gesturing around them.

Her eyes darted frantically to the balcony railing, the walls of which were comprised entirely of clear plexiglass. They were situated high above the beach, but relatively not that far from the wandering eyes of neighbors and curious beachgoers.

“No?” he chuckled. “Perhaps a wager then.”

He leaned over her body, his mouth poised over hers; she drank his breath with each inhalation, intoxicated by his nearness. Clarice was struck, as she always was, by the power he radiated, the sense of helplessness she felt in his presence. She arched up to meet him ever so slightly, her lips parting in anticipation, her eyes still locked with his. 

“Do not move.”

Hannibal stood swiftly and entered the house, leaving her breathless and wanting outside. She remained frozen, heeding his command, wondering what devilish and delicious things he could be planning for her. 

He returned to the balcony with a small tube in his hands. Her eyes widened in recognition. He tugged the end of one of her bikini ties, watching her, his eyes predatory with desire. He untied the other side and grasped the front of her bottoms, peeling it away from her hips, uncovering her with agonizing slowness.

She watched as he deftly flipped open the lid, squeezed out a small amount of cream onto his finger, and closed it with a sharp snap. His eyes tracked her reaction, smiling inwardly as he witnesses the realization begin to dawn on her face.

“I am going to make you come, now, Clarice. I expect you to achieve your climax…..”

Clarice held her breath wide-eyed. He was going to let her come?

“........silently.” He continued, “If you manage not to make a sound, I will reward you with a second orgasm. However, if you fail, I will suspend you from the beam above your head for the enjoyment of the tourists,” he explained evenly. “ Do you understand me, pet?”

She nodded haltingly as he painstakingly parted her lips and spread the cream across her clit, rubbing it in with small circles, his fingers dipping in and out of her cleft.

Clarice’s body spasmed, back arching off the lounge within minutes of the application. Her clit was throbbing already, undulating waves of fire and ice sweeping over her. 

Hannibal smiled knowingly. This would be too easy. 

 

HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL

Hannibal seized Clarice’s ankles firmly and dragged her body to the end of the chaise, kneeling down in front of her. He spread her legs, keeping his hands clasped around either knee, holding her open and vulnerable to his penetrating gaze. He leaned into her and blew gently on her clit, hyper-sensitive from the enhancer. Her hips bucked off the chair, hands desperately clutching the edges of the frame beneath her.

Her breathing was erratic long before he actually touched her. Clarice centered all her efforts on controlling the screams that threatened to bubble up from her throat and channeled them into alternating deep and shallow breaths instead. She knew, though, that if she held tight to her control, she would never come and Hannibal wouldn’t relent until she did, even if it meant keeping her here on the balcony all day; even if it meant missing his hunt. He was not going to secede her this victory. There was no way for her to win this battle of wills. She was so lost in her own concentration that she missed him snaking his tongue between her folds. The first touches of his tongue against her clit were nearly her undoing.

Hannibal smiled against her; she was coming undone and he’d hardly touched her yet. He was going to enjoy seeing her trussed up, suspended from the balcony, on display. She would make a fetching centerpiece, he thought. 

He pressed his lips to her folds, tongue diving into her again and again, tasting her sweetness. He had a hunt to get ready for; he needed to speed things along. Hannibal vigorously flicked his tongue against her clit, assuming his victory was close at hand when she began to vibrate beneath his touch.

Clarice was desperately clinging to her self-control as she writhed under Hannibal’s tongue, the entire force of her attention reduced to the tiny bundle of nerves at the center of her being. She did not want to be on display for the viewing pleasure of the Italian public. She didn’t mind being bound and suspended for Hannibal’s enjoyment, but she preferred to fulfill that fantasy for him in the privacy of their bedroom or their playroom. The strength of the sensations was so strong that she she was forced to alter her breathing, taking short, shallow breaths that barely filled her lungs, unable to sustain the deep breathing she had been practicing. 

Hannibal laved her clit mercilessly with his tongue, rapidly plunging two fingers deep into her core, slick only with her own juices. Her hips danced off the chair, a keening moan nearly breaking from her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, moisture leaking from the corners of her eyes with the effort of keeping her cries at bay. She was close; she could feel her walls begin to tighten around his plunging fingers, the steady weight building deep within her. If she could only hold on a little bit longer…..

A gasp that ended on a choking sob as he slammed a third finger inside her clasping sheath, filling her so completely that she thought she would burst and shatter from the force of his powerful thrusts.

Hannibal drew her clit against his teeth, teasing her as he continued to flick his tongue along the underside, even as he sucked her unrelentingly into his warm mouth. Her teeth began to chatter, her body bent in the middle as her torso surged off the chaise in time with the pulses of his tongue. Her face contorted into a mask of anguish and determination, so great was the torment of his assault on her body.

She wanted, desperately, to whimper, to beg, to plead for him to finish her, but the fury of her own willpower refused to allow her submission. She should have just let him fuck her on the balcony, she thought ruefully. She could have spared herself the mental torture and the overwhelming bodily conquest. 

Hannibal’s mind was fully occupied imagining all manner of tantalizing positions he could suspend her in as he drove her recklessly to her own destruction, wrought on her body with only the force of his mouth and his hands. He would have her surrender, in every way.

Resolutely, he closed his teeth over the centermost bit of her clitoris and ripped the sound triumphantly from her raw throat, wringing cry after desperate cry from the core of her soul, laying her humanity bare before his lips. She was unable to stop herself from crying out; he dragged the sound triumphantly from her raw throat. Clarice felt as if her entire being exploded, expanding and rapidly contracting into one tiny point of light. Her body bucked uncontrollably off the lounge and Hannibal was forced to withdraw his thrusting fingers from her body to keep her from flying off the furniture with the force of her orgasm. 

Her climax went on and on, the reprieve from Hannibal’s relentless, seductive torment, coupled with the relief of expressing her pent-up screams catapulting her into another realm. 

She was sobbing and exhausted when she finished. He hauled her from the lounge and into his lap, cradling her against his chest on the floor, his back leaning against the clear wall overlooking the beach. He rubbed slow, silent circles into the muscles of her shoulders as he waited for her to calm, his mind already occupied with knot patterns and ties. 

She continued to writhe in his arms, trembling tears streaking down her cheeks. He whispered into her hair, telling her how proud he was of her effort, that she had lasted so long. He told her with sweet words of his appreciation for her devotion, of his pleasure at her spectacular release. He loved watching her come apart, knowing that it was his skill that shattered her control and left her dazed and so deeply sated.

She was wrecked; a small voice in the back of her head urged her to control her breathing, reminding her that she wasn’t yet done for the day. She had lost their bet and regardless of how worn she was now, she knew that Hannibal would demand her ultimate capitulation and she endeavored never to disappoint him. 

To that end, she offered her surrender up to him as soon as she had her breathing under control, rather than waiting for him to ask it of her. He pressed a kiss to her lips, soft and supple from the deluge of her tears. He found the taste of her tears unexpectedly arousing. He held her a bit longer, the tip of his tongue darting out to caress her cheek. 

She closed her eyes as he tasted her, stroking his nimble tongue across her cheeks, savoring the taste of her surrender against his lips.

He pulled back from her to search her face, her eyes drifting open to meet his intense stare.

“I'm ready,” she murmured.

He took a shuddering breath, pleased beyond articulation that she had offered herself up to him first.

With finality, he drew her up from the floor. “Stretch,” he instructed as he went to retrieve rope from the playroom.

Clarice relished these few moments alone, to prepare herself mentally for what she would endure, to ready her limbs against the sweet pressure of his sublime suspension techniques to which she would be submitted and bound. She shook out her arms, rolling her neck in a loose circle. She tied back her hair and dropped to the floor, bending herself into the various yoga poses Hannibal had helped her perfect, transitioning smoothly from one stance into the next, lengthening her tendons until she felt the supple glide of her muscles loosening. 

She stood at the sound of his returning footfalls. He came to a stop behind her, tossing the coil of rope onto the lounge chair, the slap of the hemp against the canvas making her jump slightly. He stepped closer, breathing her in, his hot breath gusting across the back of her bare neck. He lowered his head until the tip of his nose rested against the back of her head, just to the side of her ponytail, his own eyes closing, as she relaxed into him. His hand came up behind her to tug at the strings still holding her bikini top up. Deftly he untied them, the tiny scraps of fabric falling away from her body, leaving her bare before him and the rest of the beach.

Hannibal drew his hands across her shoulders and down her arms, tenderly caressing and massaging as he went. He felt himself grow hard as he pictured the way she would look when he was finished. She was so beautiful and so willing; he couldn’t imagine sharing this with any other woman. She understood what he needed and she gave herself over to him, even when she didn’t want the same things. She didn’t want this, he knew; not really. She liked it when he dominated her in private, but he could feel her tense apprehension vibrating beneath her skin at the idea of being strung up in public. He could feel his arousal growing as he imagined the thoughts racing through her mind. Outwardly, she appeared so calm, but he could see the erratic pulse fluttering against the side of her throat, a frantic butterfly seeking its escape. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispered close to her ear. He needed to hear it; wanted to listen to the underlying fear staining her tone while she told him her secrets.

Clarice hesitated, torn between her own appeal for protection and the demand for honesty implicit in his command. She knew she would tell him, but there was a reluctance to bare herself any further; he would exploit her demons for his own pleasure.

“Clarice,” he warned at her pause.

“I’m…...I’m nervous,” she settled on an emotion that was true, while hoping that she could avoid further explanation.

“Why?” His low voice rolled over her skin like a purr. She closed her eyes, lost in his sound. His hands continued their exploration of her body, ghosting over her abdomen, cupping her breasts.

“I don’t want to be…...exposed..….like that for anyone but you,” Clarice swallowed convulsively, giving him exactly what he wanted.

“Tell me more,” his words a quiet demand, drawing her from herself even as she drew his tone around her protectively. He drew one hand up to her throat, encircling it gently.

“It’s…...too raw,” she panted. “It’s embarrassing! I don’t…..I don’t want…...anyone else to see me….but you. And…...especially not like that; it’s…...humiliating,” she finished, hanging her head despairingly. 

“Ah,” he sighed. “But?” he waited.

She opened her eyes, staring out across the ocean. “But, I will.”

Behind her, Hannibal smiled his triumph. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her cheek.

“On your knees.”

Clarice fell to her knees immediately, kneeling facing the water, waiting. Hannibal crossed to the chaise, picking up the long coil of rope and tossing a pair of scissors from his back pocket onto the canvas seat.

He knelt behind her, drawing her hands behind her back and crossing them so that her palms gripped the undersides of her forearms, binding her wrists. He wrapped the rope around her chest and arms, pulling her upper arms closer to her sides. Gently, he helped her lie down on her stomach. He coiled the next length of rope around her middle, just below her navel, leaving the ends long. He continued down her body, winding pieces across the tops of her thighs, above and below her tightly pressed knees, and about her ankles. 

Clarice held herself as still as possible on the floor, listening as he wound the rope together, creating an intricate web that would hold her suspended above the balcony. She flinched each time he whipped an end through his hands, the sharp snap of the coil bringing her back to reality as he worked over her. She tried to relax as he readied the ropes, tossing them over the beam, knots connected and perfect in his hands.

She felt her body lift slowly off the floor, rising as he pulled the ropes taut. She squeezed her eyes closed, shutting out the view of the beach. When he had her at the height he wanted, Hannibal tied off the ends of the rope to one of the iron balustrades flanking the door to the balcony. He circled her pensile form, checking the tension on her limbs as he moved around her. He made adjustments and stood back to survey his work.

“Clarice,” his quiet voice called to her.

She slowly opened her eyes, lifting her head to find him.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m alright,” she answered, her voice small.

“I want you to watch them,” he instructed, “I want you to see. No hiding, now.” He surveyed her for a moment, considering her position, and then retrieved another length of rope. He crossed to her, sliding the course hemp through his hands. He stopped directly in front of her. “Open your mouth.”

Hannibal slipped the rope between her lips, reaching around behind her, drawing her head back, forcing her eyes to take in the stretch of sand and water beneath them. He joined the rope ends to the web holding her captive, checking that the tension on her neck did not impede her breathing. He returned to look at her adjusted position, drawing a single fingertip along the underside of her chin down to her collarbone, entranced by the taut line of her throat.

He continued around her, running his hands over her exposed flesh, fingers slipping underneath ropes to check for adequate space. He reached one arm over her back, wiggling two fingers into each of her hands. “Squeeze my fingers, Clarice,” he instructed.

When he was satisfied that his rigging was secure, he stepped back to admire his creation. 

“You know why you are here,” he intoned.

Unable to answer, Clarice nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I’m going to leave you now, Clarice, for the enjoyment of our friends below. I will return for you after my hunt.” He saw her eyes widen with fear at the thought of him leaving her alone, bound and displayed, for hours. 

He walked past her and into the house.

Clarice made a small sound in the back of her throat. He was really going to leave her here! Her breathing quickened, hysteria bubbling up from her chest and spilling out of her in frenzied sobs, her wild eyes darting frantically back and forth across her limited field of vision. She began to panic, struggling against her bounds fruitlessly, whimpering through her gag until she felt the harsh ropes bite into her skin. The searing pain of the rope burn quickly brought her back to herself and she ceased her bucking, wiggling efforts. Tears stung the back of her eyes at the realization that he had left her here alone and she would be forced to stay like this for several hours while he was away on his hunt. It would be long after nightfall before he returned and she would be left, alone, in the dark, to wait for him. 

She focused on slowing her breathing, closing her eyes to momentarily block out the sight of the people below her. She fought to take measured, even breaths, choking back the sobs of terror that threatened, hiccuping around her gag.

Slowly, she began to relax her muscles, allowing the ropes to take her weight, consciously unwinding the bands of tension that had collected around her joints as Hannibal had taught her. Her mind drifted back to their first experiences with bondage. She heard his voice in her head, coaching her through each step, explaining her role in this encounter, and his. She lost herself in the deep, rippling voice of her memory. Let the ropes control you, Clarice. Don’t fight it. If you fight it, they will be unyielding. The rope responds to your struggle. Give in to it. Let it become part of you, an extension of your flesh, holding you to the earth, binding you to the air. Relax. You are supple and pliant, beautiful and weightless; peaceful. She sagged against the binding.

Slowly, she became aware of the sound of the surf in the distance, the cacophony of seabirds calling in the air. She focused her attention on the consistent, unbroken sound of the waves crashing on the shore. She allowed herself to be lulled by the endless rhythm, hypnotized by the persistent, invariable din of the breakers. She was floating, boundless and boneless, in-between.

Her eyes opened to the scene before her, as he expected her to. There were lots of people on the beach, but none of them had noticed her yet. She was embarrassed to think of people seeing her this way, trussed up and helpless. She found it humiliating. She struggled with the clashing desires to please Hannibal, to give herself over to the sensations she was feeling, to hold tight to her own sense of self and, with it, the accompanying sense of shame.

Finally, she simply settled for feeling the moment, unable to process any more emotions than the one she was immediately faced with. She breathed in the salty air and steadied her gaze on the incessant, eddying waves, allowing the sounds to roll her under.

HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL

Hannibal watched her from the kitchen, perched on a barstool. He sipped his espresso calmly, scrutinizing her journey of self-discovery, her internal monologue revealing itself to him in the movements of her body as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud. It thrilled him to frighten her with the prospect of spending hours alone and exposed. The taste of her fear was so compelling that he was tempted to actually do it. 

As his gaze crawled across every inch of her smooth skin, he wished he could take the flogger to her. He imagined the rich snap of the straps against her back, heard her gasp in his ears at the first contact. He pictured her back arching against the ropes as he flicked the leather thongs over her pussy, dancing over her clit. He sighed; that would definitely attract attention. He chuckled mirthlessly to himself; another time. 

He glanced at his watch; another fifteen minutes, he thought, taking a sip of his coffee.

HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL*HANNIBAL

Clarice’s muscles had begun to cramp, she had to fight now to maintain the steady breathing she had gradually achieved. The ropes that had cradled her an hour before now chaffed against her skin, leaving her raw along the pressure points. Her position was becoming uncomfortable, the strain on her neck from the rope bridle causing her to tense repeatedly. She didn’t know how she would survive hours of this torment. 

She focused instead on the look of pride she hoped he would wear when he returned to set her free, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. She couldn’t articulate the depth of her feelings for Hannibal; she wasn’t even sure she fully understood them herself. She had been drawn to him, magnetized by her desire to understand his mind, enthralled with the ability he had to meld his sophisticated killings seamlessly into the rest of his life, making them just pieces in a much more elaborate picture of the whole man. Ravaged, principled, refined, exacting and persistent. Did he understand her with the same penetrating profundity that she had managed to unearth in his own humanity? She wanted to believe he did.

The sun was making it’s sure descent below the distant line of the horizon. She tracked its path with her eyes, her skin cooling as the setting sun stole the warmth from her flesh. She shivered at the breeze passing over her skin.

Clarice startled in bewilderment when he moved suddenly into her field of vision. He hadn’t left her alone. She sagged with relief against the ropes holding her.

“You did very well, Clarice,” he crooned appreciatively. 

She smiled weakly around the gag, content that she had pleased him.

Hannibal unhooked the working ends of his rigging, lowering her gently to the floor. When she was fully down, he moved along her body, untying knots to free her. He released her from the gag last, massaging the tight muscles of her neck before helping her up to sit in the circle of his legs. 

He pulled her back against his chest, rubbing his palms along her skin, coated with a thick arnica cream, massaging feeling back into her limbs. Clarice winced at the stinging sensation tingling along her nerves as they came back to life. Her skin was red where the ropes had bound, raw where she had struggled. He smoothed his long hands over her jaw, massaging the tender joint at the base of her mandible. She relaxed back against his broad chest, the linen of his shirt soft against her spine. 

She sighed, dropping her head back onto his shoulder, turning her face to nuzzle into his neck. “I thought you’d left me,” she spoke low, her voice nearly swallowed into his skin.

“I know,” he replied, “You were meant to.”

He smoothed his hands over her naked flesh, both soothing and exciting her with his touch. 

“I would love to get you to the point where I could leave you like that,” he admitted. “To go on a hunt knowing you were….bound and helpless…...totally dependant on my return……”he trailed off dreamily, his hands lingering gently over her breasts. “It would enhance the pursuit for me immeasurably.”

Clarice shivered in his arms and Hannibal came back to himself. He gathered her in his arms and rose from the floor, carrying her through the house and up the stairs to their bedroom. She expected him to set her on the bed and was surprised when he strode past it, into the master bathroom. Her eyes took in the flickering candlelight reflecting off the clean white marble. He lowered her tenderly into a deep whirlpool bath, brimming and resplendent with mounds of fragrant, glistening bubbles. He knelt on the tile beside the tub as she reclined into the water, her expression tranquil.

“I’m going now, love. I shall return for dinner in a few hours.”

“Hmmm…..” she sighed, her head lolling to one side, cheek resting against the cool edge of the tub.

“If you’re hungry before I arrive, I’ve left a snack for you on the island. You needn’t wait up for me; I may be rather late.” He kissed the side of her head.

“Hannibal,” she roused herself. “Be careful.”

“Always, darling,” he placed his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up to meet his kiss.

Leaving her to relax in her bath, Hannibal went in search of his prey.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Clarice felt the mattress dip beneath his weight when he returned to her later that night. She had been asleep for hours, but she opened her eyes now, waiting for him in the dark. She knew what he would want. It was always the same when he returned from a hunt with his blood up, adrenaline racing; there was something about the primal act of killing that returned him to his baser instincts. He would fuck her now, and her usually controlled lover would transform into a wild beast, driven to rut in with her like she was a bitch in heat. 

She lay on her side, facing away from him, waiting for him to reach for her; she was not to appear eager. The first time he had come to her after a hunt, she had been confused at his aggression. It had only been later, when she was balled up in the corner of their opulent shower, her tears blending into the spray of the water, that she realized what it all meant.

He was never truly gentle, even when he was himself, but he was always self-possessed, in control. Except after a hunt. After the blood and the screams, the bone glistening in the moonlight and the ribald tearing of flesh, then came the hot, primitive surge of lust. He had a deep-seated need to hurt; it was why their games were so fulfilling to him, but he kept himself in check, pushing her, but never breaking her. He needed her submission; her pain spoke to him, crying out for a connection that was only elsewise answered on a hunt.

Clarice tried to keep her body still, fighting the urge to tense against her pillow. Her breathing was already shallow and uneven. She imagined his hands parting her legs roughly, using her; his long fingers crudely spearing her. She instinctively pressed her knees together beneath the blanket. 

He would hurt her, she knew, but it was a hurt she craved from him. It was a connection, a way to feed the darkness in his soul. He needed her for this. Her eyes peered into the darkness, flitting back and forth nervously. She felt the familiar bubble of panic and excitement ripple up inside her chest. She let her mind rampage with her fear as she waited to learn what he would take from her this time.

She didn’t have long to wait. 

Hannibal’s arms snaked around her waist suddenly, gripping her like a vise, dragging her towards him on the bed. She gasped in surprise, though she had been prepared for it. This was the only time he craved her sounds in bed; he wanted to hear the anxiety and pain in her voice. 

He was naked, his muscled chest stained and glinting with someone else’s blood in the starlight seeping through the skylight. He pulled her under him and she felt his stiff erection, hard against her stomach. His hands fisted in her hair, wrenching her head to the side and burying his face against her neck. He breathed deeply, and opened his mouth over her pulse point. He bit down fiercely over her carotid, and she imagined his teeth biting through her flesh, her blood spraying over him, cascading in rivulets down his throat as he drank her life force away. Instead, he sucked violently at her tender flesh, forcing the artery to pulse frantically against his tongue. She cried out as he bruised her with his mouth. Her howls of pain only served to spur his passion on. He bit at her neck, shifting to her collarbone, sealing his teeth over it cruelly. She bit back a scream of anguish, but he tore at her until he had wrung a steady string of shrieks from her. He detached from her neck with a final, wet taste and enveloped her mouth, open from her sobs, with his own.

Hannibal assaulted her mouth with the same fervor, taking from her until she was breathless and aching. His kiss was an invasion, his tongue striking at her, teeth bruising tender lips. He pulled her tongue into his mouth, engulfing it with the force of suction. The moment he released her to take a breath, she jerked back in pain. His hand shot out out to her face, catching her jaw in his grip. He shook her head and forced her mouth open, applying stress to the pressure points at the hinge of her jaw with his thumb and middle finger. He leaned in to her again and she wrenched her head away, locking her mouth against his abuse, her hands shoving at his chest. He reared back from her in fury, a warning blazing in his eyes. He never spoke during a hunt fuck; but she suddenly knew what he wanted. He wanted her pain and fear, that much was obvious, but underneath all that, he needed her willful submission.

He increased the pressure on her jaw again and this time, she opened for him, her tongue sliding out from behind the safety of her teeth. His head dipped towards her mouth again and he captured her tongue between his teeth, drawing it further out of her mouth and holding it there, clamped between his jaws. 

Clarice made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Her mind flashed back to the prison nurse Hannibal had killed. He had taken out her tongue with nothing more than his teeth. This time her terror was genuine. He wouldn’t…..would he? She trembled beneath his body, dragging shallow, hiccupy breaths through her open mouth, but she didn’t fight him for control. He bit down incrementally, his eyes boring into hers from inches above her face. She dropped her hands from his chest to lay at her sides on the bed. Finally satisfied with her offering, Hannibal released the meat of her tongue from his grasp.

She gasped in relief, but he refused to allow her time to recover, his hands and mouth shifting immediately to her breasts. He fondled her brutally through the thin silk of her nightgown. He closed his lips viciously over one nipple through the fabric, worrying her breast with his teeth. He pulled back to yank the fabric from her breast and attacked her nipple again. The agony was so acute and immediate that she cried out in earnest. His was so severe; she was afraid he would actually bite the tiny bud off. Her hands shoved through his hair reflexively, wildly trying to pull him off her. He growled against her breast, his hands sliding down to tighten on her sides painfully, just below her ribcage. Her body bucked against him, instinctively trying to double over, but his weight kept her on the bed.

“Please, Hannibal!” she begged, tugging hard on his hair.

He finally liberated her nipple from the prison of his teeth, widening his jaw to settle more of the rounded globe in his mouth. He bit down again, leaving a harsh imprint of his teeth ringing her breast. He tore at her until he pierced her skin triumphantly. He raised himself off her, settling his weight back on his knees. She looked down her body to find that he had bled her, a ring of tiny crimson droplets surrounded one areola. She raised her eyes to his face to find Hannibal drawing his tongue across the smear of blood on his lower lip, eyes closed, rapturous. His entire body shuddered and his eyes burst open. His rough hands grasped at the silk of her gown and rent it. It gave up with a tremulous whisper, shredding in his big hands. He flung the pieces from her body, leaving her naked beneath his blistering gaze. 

He reached down, forcing two fingers roughly inside her. She knew she was moist and ready for him; somehow the fear and pain he wroght did nothing to chill the heat in her core. He wouldn’t want her wet, but there was nothing he could do about it now; she had made herself come earlier, once in the bath, and again just before falling asleep. 

He snarled, his teeth white in the darkness of their room. He used his hands on her hips to flip her swiftly onto her stomach. Without pause, his hands grasped her hips, bruising the thin skin over her hipbones. He dragged her ass forcefully to the height of his cock. She struggled to maintain her pose at the angle he set for her, balancing her weight on her forearms, but he shoved her forward, her chest flattening out across the mattress, her head tilted to the side, neck at a pinioned at a painful degree.

He spread her legs forcibly, fisting his erection in his hand and shoved into her with one powerful thrust, seating himself deeply within her warm sheath. She exhaled a strangled groan at the fullness of him, amplified even more by her position and the sharp incline at which he immediately began to thrust. He plunged into her relentlessly, taking long, fast, deep strokes that had her panting against the sheets, her breath puffing out in gasps as he used her to fulfill his own vicious need. 

She felt him stiffen inside her and she was sure he was close. She clenched her muscles, her delicate walls ripping around him to encourage his release. Abruptly, he pulled out of her and her world spun. With dizzying speed, she found herself facing him again. He spread her thighs wider and plunged into her again. Two strokes in, his hand shot out to wrap around her throat. Clarice’s eyes bulged in shock as his grip tightened, nearly cutting off her air supply. Desperately, she sucked in trickles of oxygen as he plunged relentlessly into her core. His face was madness, his hair drenched with sweat, his eyes gone dark and vacant. He squeezed her throat tighter as he climbed the ledge of his climax until she could no longer breathe at all. Her hands flew to her neck, clawing desperately at his hand. Tiny black dots appeared on the periphery of her vision as the world darkened around her. 

Her body bucked against his involuntarily as her sight dimmed, faded and fuzzy. Hannibal fucked her into the bed with his hand choking off the last of her air; he made a savage sound as he orgasmed inside her. 

He collapsed on top of her, his grip slack at the base of her neck. Clarice gasped for air beneath him; the weight of his body crushing her, combined with the lack of oxygen, left her dizzy and lightheaded. 

Tears were streaming down her face and she was sobbing beneath him when he finally roused himself to look at her. His eyes were glassy and unfocused; it was almost as if he didn’t really see her, or couldn’t comprehend why she was there. She had no illusions of aftercare from him when he was in that state. Her chest heaved with trembling shudders as she fought the constricting phantom grip of fear that she could still feel encircling her throat. He didn’t move to comfort her as she wept out all the grief and suffering she felt, and she didn’t expect him to. She was bewildered by the uncharacteristic tenderness when Hannibal drew her into his arms as he rolled onto his side, burying his face in the back of her neck. 

Clarice curved her body into his, as she drew her thoughts around her like a shroud, the occasional shivering gasp sneaking through as her breathing returned to normal. Her need to please him was something she didn’t understand. Loving him was confusing and terrifying, elating and impassioned. He made her feel things that she didn’t even know she was capable of. And she had never questioned it; questioned how right he felt to her. It felt…...inexplicable to her; she couldn’t fathom attempting to define or quantify the depths of this mysterious thing between them. She buried her mind in the the puzzle of their impossible life together. She gradually became aware of Hannibal’s steady heartbeat against her back. The last of her tears slowly subsided as she was lulled by his deep, even breathing. She eventually relaxed into the tremulous veil of sleep, her thoughts quieting into calmness as his seed trickled unhurriedly down her thighs.


End file.
